


Miscellaneous Awakenings

by reef2



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character Death, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reef2/pseuds/reef2
Summary: Takes on canon happenings, personal headcanons, and AUs, primarily based around Grima, a female Robin or two, and son Morgan.





	1. Inner Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> It's the final battle.  
> Morgan is conflicted.

He had kept his mark bandaged, or covered by gloves, and hidden away for as long as he had been in the past. It felt like the natural thing to do, instinctual, though he knew not what it meant - he had been tempted, sometimes, to ask Lucina if she knew. But she was the only one he’d considered bringing it up to. He wasn’t even comfortable doing so with Owain. Eventually, he found that was for good reason, and now in particular he realized the gravity of why it was so that he’d felt so strongly about it.

For now, facing that person who had his mother’s face, his hand  _burned_ , an intense pain that he’d felt before but couldn’t quite remember when. It was there, in his mind, but he didn’t need to fully know it to comprehend why. This was his mother, after all. From that future - where he had come from? Or just the others? But the Fell Dragon’s influence was the same either way.

It tried to take his mother from this timeline to regain its full strength, but his voice and those of the Shepherds had given her the strength to free herself from its clutches. And now they fought, both Risen and Grimleal, hoards of them summoned to the dragon’s back to defend their god with all their might. It had cost many their lives, and even now he and the others were striking them down as Morgan’s family launched an assault on the Fell Dragon’s vessel.

His mother.  _His_  mother.

So when the enemies he and those around him were dealing with, he couldn’t help his eyes wandering to the place closest the Fell Dragon’s head. He could see the figures of his father and sister, wielding Falchion, the black pegasus and flashing spells of his mother from this timeline. And some part of him wanted to go to them, to fight by their side, to end this suffering that they had all fought against for so long. This was the root of their pain, wasn’t it? Lucina and everybody had come back to fight it.

But he also knew… that he hadn’t.

It had come on slowly, and not been realized until this very day. As soon as the Fell Dragon was restored, those voices in his head that he had sometimes heard in his dreams became far more clear. They had made it clear he was a traitor - of his friends? They hadn’t been his friends. Of his sister? He had known her only as an enemy. His father was dead before he was even born. It was his mother, of the time he had come from, that he had betrayed.

The Fell Dragon.

In his hand was the tome that it had given him in her form - the first one, that is, a handy but fairly basic book of spells that he had kept in good condition and refused to part with. But also with him, always with him, was the last one she had given him. The one that contained its power, and was in a language he was never sure why he could read. Like his mark, he had kept it hidden, kept it close. He was supposed to use it, that power, to rid of any chance that the future might be changed. So now that he was aware, what was he supposed to do?

His memories had not returned completely. Bits and pieces here and there - a mission, a bit of truth about his role in the future they had come from. Some parts were still returning, slowly, surely. The longer he heard its voice, the more he realized he was conflicted. He had been happy here in this time, with his family and friends. He had become close to some of them. But all his memories from before were marked by one thing - loyalty. That which he took pride in the most towards his mother, the one who he remembered, the one who he adored. And that was because she had been the only one by his side, as he was the only one by hers. They’d only had each other.

Now he had friends. The chance at a happy ending for all of them. But what about him? What about  _her_?

Without her, what did he have?

And yet he knew the truth of the matter was that he had family. A few friends amongst the future children who were fighting so hard to prevent the existence of the very world they came from. Their hopes, their dreams, everything they worked for, and everything he’d been fighting for since he got here, was now within reach. At the cost of the one who had loved him unconditionally, despite being a “monster.”

What was he supposed to do, he wondered as he watched, distantly, the blows that worked to weaken her.

What was he supposed to do, as he watched the dragon and its vessel assault those he’d come to love, but had before seen as enemies.

What was he supposed to do, as he drew that forbidden tome, uncertain.

What was he supposed to do–


	2. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grima is born into the world to die, again and again.  
> But not always literally.

_**-**  _They were young in form, but not in mind.  
 _ **-**  _They had grown steadily until recently, aware of but not  _understanding_  their creator. He doted upon them, yes, and  _hurt them_ , yes, but also seemed to be against doing so extensively. He would stop should they react negatively to things, since they became able to do so, and soothe them into calming down. He seemed to care about them, for a time. They weren’t  _happy_ , exactly, but they were in a fairly neutral state of being up to that time. Impressionable. Uncertain.

**_-_**  Until that instant, when he threw that all away.

**_-_**  Giving them his blood was not exactly a  _new_  thing. Neither of them were sure, after the fact, exactly what had caused the  _pact_  to be made - some form of intent on his part, certainly, but it was unconscious if so. The reaction was not immediate, either, pain abrupt in  _both_  of them some time later - it was an exchange of thought, of being, of form. In an  _instant_ , they were as one, and yet… the young dragon had not been prepared for such a thing.

**_-_**  Thoughts of  _power_  and  _control_ ,  _death_  and  _destruction_ , love lost and lives taken in the pursuit of  _his_  goals. There was an  _anger_  and  _obsession, knowledge_  they could not immediately comprehend. Expectations. A desire to bring back the dead.

**_-_**  A desire for  _perfection -_  the knowledge that came with it.

**_-_**  In one instant, they were a child. In the next, they were a “monster.”

**_-_**  They lashed out, they would later admit. Not directly at him. They destroyed some of his things, killed some of the corpses he’d revived. They tried to harm it, only to harm their original master in the process, forcing him to call them off. They could  _feel_  his growing anxieties toward them, could hear his thoughts plain as day, but at least for a time he had no desire to destroy his creation. Though this did not leave them without issues. 

**_-_**  Their mind was a mess of fresh information, of conflicting feelings - the agony and madness of loss they had never experienced brought them a good amount of pain. That desire for power, for  _control_ , mixed with the  _fear_  he felt at what he had created, built up inside them and made them anxious. It was a lot to comprehend, and he wasn’t helping them.

**_-_**  And yet, despite all the conflicting and awful things they felt, they had also inherited some amount of care for their creator. Perhaps it was that he seemed to care for them so - despite his want to control them, which initially they’d taken as… precautions. Necessary. It was a slow and creeping acceptance that he wanted that power of theirs, and at first they were willing to give it to him.

**-** But he seemed to realize that they were  _too_  powerful. That moment came when he realized if he could not control them completely, he must  _destroy_  them. They had tried to reassure him, but he took their every gesture as one of  _knowing_  something they shouldn’t, _feeling_  things they shouldn’t. Why - why -  _why_ couldn’t he recognize that he was only feeling from them his  _own_  feelings, reflected  _back_  at him.

**_-_**  All those things he felt and accepted, doubled through their connection. He did not realize he was mad, and projected himself onto his creature. And then, not liking what he saw, decided that projection must be destroyed.

**_-_**  They wouldn’t allow it.

**_-_**  It would cause them a great amount of pain. Emotional, physical, and mental. But… through him they had learned how to control his undead.

**_-_**  They wouldn’t allow him to destroy them.

**_-_**  He had no means of doing so, anyway. And perhaps he was aware of this. Or perhaps, some part of him still held care. They remember his touch, attempting to soothe them despite his ill intent.

**_-_**  They wouldn’t allow him to  _fool_  them.

_**-**_  …they remember the lasting agony, afterward. It never quite went away. It was the feeling of being wounded by corpses he’d murdered and brought back. The feeling of their own teeth at his throat. The feeling of dying, abruptly, at their own hand.

_**-**_  It didn’t go away.

**_-_**  It never went away.


	3. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An iteration of Robin with nothing left.  
> She is so very tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Alstroemeria Records ~ Unknown.  
> Implied suicide.

-  **“Does it hurt, my child?”**

\- A snicker, from the shadows. Her eyes dart from side to side, searching and seeing nothing. She  _knows_  she’ll see nothing, and yet she refuses to cast her sights within. Finding nothing, they lower, to the body in her arms - it’s  _not real_  - and with what pitiful strength remains she pulls it closer to her, her fingers getting tangled in blue strands of hair. 

\- It’s not real, and yet it hurts just as much as it did back then.

-  **“I would’ve thought you’d gotten over it by now. Yet even after becoming a part of me - you still don’t seem to _think_  like I do.”**  


\- She closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. None of this is real. She’s not even here, now. Dragged out against her will, as if there was anything left to cling to. For so long she had slept, aware only of the initial  _slaughter_ , and then… silence. Peaceful, oblivious sleep, with no chance to fight back. So why now?

-  **“Why I woke you? Honestly, I was getting a bit _bored_ all by myself.”** It laughs in genuine amusement, a tone that  _chills_  her. She opens her eyes, as if expecting to see its figure in front of her, six eyes glaring at her without mercy from the shadows. What she sees, instead, is a change in that figure in her arms.

\- The cry from her throat barely sounds human, as she registers Lucina’s form.

-  **“With nobody left to oppose me - well, now, there’s just no challenge to it.”** The laugh changes from amused to mocking, and she sets the corpse - it’s not  _real it’s not real -_  down on the ground in front of her. Her daughter’s face serene, as if she’s merely sleeping. As if for years she hadn’t been suffering all on her own. Robin’s hand reaches out to touch her face, as Grima’s voice tells her,  **“Even Naga has fallen… You are _all_  that remains~”**

\- She could refuse to believe it, knowing Grima would tell her such things in hopes of driving her to despair. She could deny and receive no comforting confirmation as to whether or not these are lies. She could accept it as truth, and despair knowing that she is the only one who remains in this broken world - a shell of herself, not even living.

\- What flares up in her isn’t quite  _anger_  or  _sadness._  She doesn’t really understand what drives her. She can’t be certain of  _anything -_  she can’t remember how to feel  _anything._  Maybe _determined_  is the right word, as she stands, staring fondly down at her daughter, and draws her sword.

-  **“Oh, now, isn’t that cute,”**  it says, snickering as she sets off into the dark.

\- She wanted to find Grima, so she would. Even if it didn’t matter. Even if she couldn’t really kill it. If she could pretend, just for a moment, that she had some sort of say in anything, the ability to change the fate that had befallen everybody she cared about.

\- Gods.  _Gods._

\- Chrom who had loved and trusted her. Lucina who had depended on her. Frederick who, despite his early suspicions, had put his life at stake to try and save her from her destiny. Her family back home - Emmeryn’s memory - her promise to end the war, no matter the cost.

\- The cost was  _everything._  The war was over, turned to slaughter.

\- She ended up back where she started, and this time it was not Lucina. It was not merely one corpse. Numb, she turned around, and walked a different way.

\- Her poor son, born into this life.. She had freed him to a better future -

-  **“Nothing will change,”**  their voice laughed,  **“nothing _can.”_**

-  _Shut up._

\- It hated her for that. It hated her for taking away its only connection to humanity beyond her. Because she could admit, at least, that she was no longer human. She was the Fell Dragon, from the moment she was born. 

\- She remembered vividly the deaths she had been forced to witness. Those three who had taken her in and allowed her to stay despite her Plegian ancestry, the ones who loved her dearly. She had loved them as family. And yet by her hand, each way slain. She could remember Chrom’s clear last words, Lissa’s hopeful smile which turned to confusion when she was inevitably betrayed. The look in Frederick’s eyes that told her he believed himself to be a failure, unable to protect any of them, unable to fulfill her final wishes.

\- This was her fate, even if she had tried to deny it. But the her in that time might still have a chance.

\- She stopped walking, and stared at her own body on the ground before her, lifeless and cold.

\- She had long since become a walking shell of herself. Perhaps it was hopeless to believe she could accomplish anything. Maybe Grima was right after all, and her last effort at protecting her son would lead to nothing. Maybe Lucina was dead. Maybe the future couldn’t change. Maybe the world was doomed.

\- It was all her fault.  _Peace?_

\- She stepped forward, gripping the sword in both hands, and stabbing it into the body in the ground.

\- Reasoning?

\- And again.

\- Validar, a victim?

\- And  _again._

\- And each time, her emotionless facade began to break down. More force into each blow, more tears running down her face. More, more, more. The only sound she could hear were her own sobs.

\- Arms wrapped around from behind her, as if to soothe her. It pet her hair, and whispered in her ear. It told her of all the ways they died. The Risen, the Grimleal. Sacrificing for their families, trying to kill her. All of it, all of it,  **“It’s all your fault.”**

\- Its laugh, like music, in her ears. A strangled cry escaped her in response. For a moment, it seemed like she could no longer hear either of the sounds as she raised the sword from the _her_  on the ground, and drove it through the  _her_  that she  _assumed_ she was.

\- It didn’t laugh anymore.

-  **“You have to find me, Robin,”**  it called, something off about its voice. But she fell to her knees, uncaring, hands shaking next to the sword. This wasn’t real.  **“You have to kill me, don’t you? Are you just giving up now?”**  This wasn’t real, and yet for years it had hurt so badly. What was the  _point._   **“How boring.”** _What was the point?_   **“How miserable.”**

\- She fell to the ground, in place of the body she’d mutilated before.

\- Why did it hurt so badly, when everything was already lost?

\- Gods, she just wanted to rest.

\- Naga, please let her rest.

-  _Please._


End file.
